Angling
by trollnexus
Summary: HPDM. Scorpius wants to invite Albus Potter over for the holidays, and Draco doesn't have the heart to say "no." Thus he gives permission on one condition: Albus must bring a parent over to chaperone. Draco thinks the Potters won't consent, but Harry Potter has always foiled Draco's expectations. Now Draco is stuck with a flirtatious, recently divorced prat in his house. One-shot.


**Title: **Angling

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, and I make no money off of this.

**Pairings:** Draco/Harry. There is room for potential Scorpius/Albus if you'd like, but they're just kids here, so I refuse to definitively mark this as such. And who knows, maybe they'll both grow up to love other people. I'm not overly concerned about it in this story.

**Rating:** M. Because that's just how I am.

**Warnings:** Sexual content.

**Summary:** Draco isn't happy about his son wanting to invite Albus Potter over for the holidays, but he doesn't have the heart to say "no" outright. Thus he gives permission on one condition: Albus must bring one of his parents over to chaperone. Draco thinks neither Potter parent will consent, but Harry Potter has always lived to foil Draco's expectations. Now Draco is stuck with a flirtatious, recently divorced Saviour as his guest.

**Author's Note:** Finally, a story from Draco's POV again (but still third-person, because I don't like the "I" voice). If Harry acts so strangely that you want to strangle him for being so unexpected, trust me, that's exactly how Draco feels.

This isn't really as humourous as some of my other stories, since I wrote this in a sort of serious fashion, but it's not angst, either. Draco's kind of interested in Potter despite his insecurities, Potter's kind of interested in Draco despite his own reservations, and their kids are blissfully unaware of the tension their fathers feel, because they have each other and are happy.

There will be time skips, and there will be things that are just kind of behind the scenes, and honestly, I think it's more interesting to let you fill in some of the subtle blanks yourself. I'm calling this fic "Angling" because the tone depends on what angle you're looking at, especially when it comes to the letters between Draco and Scorpius.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the read.

* * *

_Dear Papa,_

_My first term at Hogwarts has been good. Thank you for asking. My professors have been nice. The homework is okay. I like it here._

_No, Papa, no one is mean to me. I keep to myself like you told me to do. I don't bother or hurt anyone. They look at me funny. But looks are stupid, so it's okay._

_I have a friend now. His name is Albus Potter. He is nice. May he visit during break? Please? I want to show him the Manor. I want to be a host. Being a host is cool._

_Also, tell me how you are. I miss you a little._

_Love,_

_Scorpius Malfoy_

* * *

Draco read the little letter over and over again at the desk in his study, analysing every blot and every scratch and the exact slant of every word. He frowned at some parts, feeling that the sentence structure could have been better, but then he remembered that his son was only eleven years old. When Draco was eleven, his letters were probably even more incoherent with the occasional misspelling, and Scorpius, at least, had managed to spell everything correctly. He could be proud of that.

After a few minutes of trying to piece together an impression of his faraway son using the scant evidence of this one piece of parchment, he finally set the letter down.

Honestly, the reason why his heart was pounding was not because of his son's grammatical quirks. It was the content of the letter that bothered him.

Of all the students in the whole bleeding school, did he have to befriend one of Harry Potter's spawn?

Then again, if one totalled up the spawn of Potter, the spawn of the Weasels, and the spawn of everyone else that Draco felt uncomfortable about during the war, they would probably make up most of the entire student body, anyway, so there was no hope, not unless he tried to arrange his son's friendships like arranged marriages, which was just ridiculous.

Yet _really_, did it have to be _Potter's_ son? He felt the most uncomfortable about the subject of Potter. At least his feelings towards the Weasels were never really that personal. But Potter…

He cleared his throat and shook his head. No, there was no point in moping about it. His son required an answer, so an answer must be written. It must both appease his son yet also create the most amiable situation for himself.

He smirked as an idea formed. Ever since Potter's divorce, all the children were under the custody of the Weaselette, and she _hated_ Draco on principle. He knew exactly what to write now.

* * *

_Dear Scorpius,_

_I am glad to see you settling down in school and behaving. Your education is the most important part of your life next to your family, so it is prudent that you put the most effort into your studies, for the only way to ensure a good future for the family (and for yourself) is to earn good marks._

_As for your request, I will accept, but on one condition: should your friend wish to visit the Manor, he must be accompanied by a parent. Although I love watching over you, I am not used to watching over two children, and I do not want to be held responsible should your friend get himself into a scrape. I would feel much more comfortable if there were another parent present to ensure the best care for him, especially if you intend to have him visit often and for prolonged periods of time. Consider that before having him visit._

_Thank you for inquiring after my health. I am doing fine. Work does keep me busy, but I always have time for you. I miss you, too, you little brat._

_Take care of yourself, and please try your best to stay out of trouble for me._

_Love,_

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

Draco scowled in his lawn chair, even as he watched his beautiful son laugh and run around the field that was enchanted to be perpetually summer, his blond hair glittering in the artificial sunlight. Although the sight of his son looking so healthy with his cheeks slightly flushed would usually be enough to make Draco smile even on the worst of days, there were two things wrong with this picture.

First of all, his son was not running around alone. There was another little boy, shorter than Scorpius with messy black hair and a thin face, and he, too, was running around. In fact, the two of them were playing some sort of game, although Draco found the shouting to be too incoherent for him to understand the rules.

Second of all, in the lawn chair next to him was a bigger version of that little boy, only with stupid glasses and a scar on his forehead, not to mention a wider face and a squarer jaw.

He let out a sigh.

Potter turned to face him, frowning. "What, Malfoy?"

"What, indeed. I was just wondering why I have to put up with your presence today, Scarhead."

Potter frowned even more, and it made him look highly unattractive. If he was not careful, that wrinkle in his forehead might become permanent. "In case you've forgotten, Malfoy, your letter to your son demanded that I should be here."

"Don't be full of yourself, Potter. I did not ask for _you,_ specifically. I asked for Albus's parent."

"Are you daft? Do I have to explain the definition of 'parent' to you, Malfoy? You see, when a man and a woman decide that they want a child very much, they—"

"Piss off, Potter!" Draco hissed. "You know what I mean! I thought you didn't have custody of the kids, anyway!"

"So you wanted Ginny here? Are you angling to get a date from her, was _that_ the motive?"

Draco retched. "No! I don't want the damn Weaselette! I was just hoping she'd say _no_, and then I wouldn't have to deal with any of your ilk here at all!"

Potter regarded him with appraising eyes. "Ah. I see now. You were trying to say no, but in a Slytherin way."

"Yes."

"So in other words, you'd like nothing more than for me to get up, grab Al by the sleeve, and drag him home."

"Well, yes."

"Hmm. Let me think about that. How about _no_?"

Draco grabbed a fistful of Potter's ridiculously long, unruly hair and _yanked_.

"OW!" Potter slapped his arm away. "You really want to do this? You want to act like a spoiled brat? Fine! Have at me! I'm a fully trained Auror; let's see you attempt to take me down!"

Draco almost got up to lunge at the bastard, but a high-pitched shriek gave him pause. He turned, and there was Scorpius, rolling around on the grass, getting tickled by mini-Potter.

"Fuck me," he muttered to himself. "He really does seem like he's having fun, doesn't he?"

He turned to Potter to see if he would nod in agreement, but Potter was looking at him with slightly wide eyes, as if there were something sparkly on Draco's forehead.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

Potter blinked . "Erm. Nothing. Look, the kids are happy, and shouldn't that make you happy, too?"

"I guess. Indeed, I was afraid that he wouldn't make friends at all, seeing as he's…"

"Unfortunate enough to be as pointy as you when you were that age? I know, the poor thing."

Draco clenched his fist. "My son is not pointy! And neither was I!"

"Please, Malfoy, your chin alone could open cans."

"You take that back or else!"

"Or else what? You'll stab me to death with your chin? I'm trembling, Malfoy!"

"I'll show you trembling, you little—"

"Papa!" interrupted Scorpius, and Draco flushed slightly and moved back to his seat, embarrassed at his behaviour. Honestly, why did Potter always bring out the worst in him? "Albus and I are hungry. Is it lunchtime yet? May we please have something to eat?"

"_Tempus_. Hm, it is indeed noon. Alright. I shall order the elves to make something for you and your guest. Would you like to join us for lunch, too, Mr Potter?"

Potter's lips twitched. "That would be very nice, _Mr_ Malfoy. I would love to join you folks."

"Well, then. Right this way."

* * *

Lunch was a tense affair for Draco and Potter, but their respective sons were oblivious, happily munching on their club sandwiches. Mini-Potter was chattering on and on about Quidditch, not caring that he was speaking with food in his mouth, and Scorpius was nodding eagerly with _his_ mouth properly closed and watching him with shining eyes.

Draco sneaked a glance at Potter, feeling something clench in his gut. It was almost like looking at an alternate past where Potter had accepted his hand in friendship in the first place, except, of course, Scorpius and Mini-Potter did not _exactly_ look like their fathers. Scorpius may have had Draco's eye colour, but the shape of his eyes was like his mother's, and his nose was less aquiline. Mini-Potter had a dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks, and he had a dimple that Potter lacked, not to mention longer eyelashes that were unhindered by ugly glasses.

Speaking of Potter, he was watching the kids thoughtfully, almost as if the same thoughts were running through his mind.

Draco grimaced and looked away. The day he and Potter were actually on the same wavelength was the day Draco admitted himself to St. Mungo's for reasons of insanity.

* * *

After lunch, both children had fallen asleep on the couch. Mind you, the Manor had very large couches, so the children were not cramped or anything, but they were still sleeping very close to each other, their noses practically touching.

For some reason, the sight made Draco smile. Children were so innocent and happy. For them, there was so such thing as sexual tension or rules or awkwardness. It was just, "I like you" or "I don't like you," and if you liked someone, you spent time with them and let them get close to you. It did not have to _mean_ anything, any more than that simple desire for companionship.

The smile slid off his face as turned and locked gazes with the older Potter. When you are an adult, everything is more complicated. You may like someone or the idea of someone, but the circumstances around you will inevitably dictate whether or not you can express that liking for them, and even if you _can_ express it, your expression is limited.

For example, Draco could never tell Potter that he admired him and always did on some level despite the man's foolishness and inability to handle fame with grace. The most Draco could ever do to express this admiration was to fail to identity his face in the Manor and to say "Thank you" when the prat had returned his wand.

Liking Potter was something that everyone did and something that Potter never really appreciated, since he seemed to think that no one, aside from the Weasel and Granger, actually liked him for who he was rather than because he was a hero. The whole reason he and the Weaselette had gotten divorced was because she was tired of being viewed as a helpless fan. She had developed genuine love for him over the years, but the idiot refused to believe it was real, and she felt she deserved someone that appreciated her love.

Normally Draco would just call her a bitch on principle, but he had to admit that he agreed. Divorce was not something one did lightly. Divorce, just like marriage, happens after years and years of emotional build-up, and if one gets a divorce, one must have been unhappy for a long, long time. He spared a thought for Astoria, who was now traveling the world and shedding away her sheltered past. She was someone he had made unhappy, and he was glad that she was free now.

Draco glanced at the children again. He hoped that when they grew up, they would have an easier time when it came to love, no matter who they chose to love, but then again, love was always a mess. His hopes might be in vain.

He summoned a house-elf and told it to alert him when the kids woke up. Then he walked off towards his study, because if he was going to start thinking in this fashion, he'd rather not do it in front of little children. He'd rather do it alone.

He heard footsteps behind him, however, and he knew that Potter was not yet done with his company.

* * *

"Malfoy," said Potter, once the door of the study was closed.

"Potter. I do not recall inviting you to join me here."

"Well, I am a guest. Aren't you supposed to entertain me?"

"How? By being a target for your pathetic attempts at verbal sparring? I'd really rather not."

Potter sighed, and Draco felt that if he were blind and were asked to identify Potter in a crowd, he'd simply ask the crowd to sigh, because only Potter's sigh could set his blood boiling like that. "Malfoy, we do not have to 'spar' all the time, you know. We could just…talk?"

"And what, pray tell, is there to talk about?"

"I'm sure you have questions you must be dying to ask me."

"Oh, the Saviour is granting me an exclusive interview! I feel so honoured!" Draco fluttered his eyelashes in an obviously false manner, hoping to annoy the git and provoke him into saying something interesting. Strangely, though, Potter only coloured a bit and looked away.

"Shut up. I guess this was a bad idea—"

"Sit down, Potter," Draco interrupted before the martyr could start feeling sorry for himself. He gestured towards a loveseat. "We can talk here. After all, I _am_ a host."

The two of them sat down, side by side, although Potter edged away from Draco, probably taking care to not touch him in any way or form. Draco rolled his eyes, but he expected this.

"Well, Potter, any question, you say?"

"Yes, but no guarantees I'll answer it."

"Pooh. You're no fun. Well, anyway, why are you here, and not your ex-wife?"

"Like you predicted, Malfoy, she did not want to be anywhere near you and was ready to reject Al outright. But he was very sad about it, and it's really hard to resist his pouting, so she Firecalled me, asking me if I was willing to be his chaperone. I said yes, because I know what it's like to not have friends, and I don't want that for Al."

"What the deuce do you mean? You've always had friends, Potter! Like Weasel and Granger!"

"Not before Hogwarts. No one wanted to be anywhere near me in the Muggle schools, since I was my cousin's enemy, and everyone was scared of him."

Draco pondered this. "So that's why you were so fiercely protective of Weasley back then. He was your first friend."

"Yeah."

"Hm."

They sat there in silence, not knowing what to say. Finally, Potter quipped, "Do you feel like a prick yet? Ready to apologise for being so mean to me and Ron?"

"Not on your life, Potty."

Then Potter did the strangest thing. He _smiled_.

"I wouldn't have you any other way, Malfoy."

"Hmph." Draco turned away and glared at his bookshelf, not wanting to feel confused by that blasted smile. "You'll never have me in any way, Potter."

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Potter's fingers wrap around his wrist.

"Wanna bet, Malfoy?"

"Sure, but bet on what?" His thoughts were whirring confusedly and hesitantly in his head. Those fingers were highly distracting.

Potter was suddenly very close, his voice wafting directly into Draco's ear. "I'll wager that I _can_ have you if I want, Malfoy."

Draco fought the urge to shiver, for showing weakness in front of an enemy was not acceptable. "I don't accept the wager, Potter, for your wording is suspect. If you lose and can't have me, you'll just claim that you didn't want me in the first place and therefore the wager was null. I wasn't born yesterday."

Potter chuckled, and to his horror, Draco could feel his own cheeks heat up. "And _I_ wasn't born yesterday, either. I know exactly what you'd like me to say next, but I'm not going to say it."

The conversation was thankfully cut short as a house-elf appeared. "Master Draco," it squeaked. "Master Scorpius and his guest is being awake!"

"Ah." Draco stood up and straightened out his robes. "Well, Potter, I suppose it is time for you to take your son home. After all, he cannot play here forever."

"Yeah." Potter's disturbingly flirtatious tone was suddenly gone, like dew evaporated by the harsh afternoon sunlight. "I should take him back to Ginny. May we visit again some other time?"

"I suppose. Scorpius _is_ fond of him, after all."

"Alright. See you again soon, then."

* * *

Throughout the rest of the winter holidays, Draco saw a lot of Harry and Albus Potter. The latter would squeal excitedly upon seeing Scorpius and pounce on him, and the former would smile upon seeing Draco and unfortunately _not_ pounce on him.

Wait. Draco meant _fortunately_. He was too old to be pounced on, anyway, and Potter was not someone he wanted on top of him. Or below him. Or anywhere near him at all.

"So, Potter," he asked, trying to steer himself away from such thoughts. "What about your other two children? Are they not coming along with you?"

"James is spending time with his own friends, and _their_ parents do not require a chaperone. Lily is decorating the house with Ginny."

"Ah."

"How about your ex-wife, Malfoy? Does she ever want to spend time with Scorpius?"

"Sometimes. Not this holiday season, though. Last I heard, she found herself a new romantic interest, and she wants some time to explore that first."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

Potter shuffled his feet awkwardly. "So um, what will you and Scorpius be doing on Christmas?"

"We plan to have dinner with my parents. Christmas is a family day."

"Ah, that's true. Same here, actually. Molly will probably make a huge feast, coupled with a huge fuss."

"Is it not awkward to eat with your ex-in-laws?"

"They're also my family, and besides, Ginny and I have been divorced for a while. It's not news anymore."

"Mm."

Potter raised a hand to brush a stray strand off Draco's forehead. Draco blinked, his heart pounding.

"Papa!" Draco suddenly found himself pounced on by a blond blur, and he forgot about Potter's strangely tender gesture. "Can we listen to you read a story?"

"A story? But it's nowhere near bedtime."

"Al was saying that his daddy is the best bedtime storyteller ever, and I want to prove him wrong!"

Mini-Potter stuck his tongue out at Scorpius, and Scorpius swatted at him playfully. Potter clucked disapprovingly, and the boy withdrew his tongue, turning to face him.

"Daddy! I say we should have a reading competition! You against Score's dad!"

Potter grinned. "And what's the prize?"

"Anything the winner wants from the other, like all competitions!"

Potter looked Draco up and down. "Alright. I'm for it."

Draco groaned. He did not like that look in Potter's eyes.

"Fine. But only because I have my pride to defend, Potters. Come on, Scorpius, let's select a book from the library."

"Wait!" said Potter. "It's not fair if we only have access to your books, which you must be used to reading. I want to go home and grab my own."

"Fine, whatever! I'm going to win anyway! We'll wait here."

"Oh, I know you'll be waiting eagerly for me." Potter winked and walked out the door, leaving Draco to blush and splutter and fume.

* * *

Several hours later, Draco was scowling over a glass of brandy in his bedroom, unable to believe that his own son had ended up choosing Potter over him.

Who in their right mind would choose some _Muggle_ story over a perfectly good Wizarding classic? Little Red Riding Hood, indeed!

There was a knock on his door. "Malfoy?"

"Go away, Potter!"

"Come on, stop sulking! Your son wants to see you!"

"Well, I don't want to see that traitor! Choosing you over me! Hmph!"

There was a muttered spell, and suddenly the door flew open.

"POTTER! What did you do to my door?"

"Relax. The door's undamaged. I do have _some_ finesse, you know. Now put the glass down and come talk to your son. He's crying because he thinks he made you sad."

Draco set the glass aside, rubbed his temples, and sighed. Potter had a point. Just because he was upset about losing a silly competition doesn't mean he had to take it out on his young, impressionable son. If he was _crying_, he must really be upset, since he rarely cried unless there was physical pain involved.

"Fine. Move out of the way. I'll go talk to him."

As he shoved Potter aside, he cast a surreptitious glance at the door. There were no scratches or obvious damage, as far as he could see. Fine. Potter wouldn't have to pay for _that_, at least.

Draco did not want to think about that fact that soon it would be _him_ paying _Potter _due to losing the competition, because he had no idea whether to feel nervous or excited about said payment, and that uncertainty unnerved him.

He reached his son's bedroom and ceased his inner tirade, feeling his throat tighten at the sight of his son curled up on his bed, sniffling.

"Scorpius…why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry, Papa! I'm so sorry! Now you hate me!"

Draco furiously blinked away his own forming tears. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't hate you."

"I made you upset! I should have picked you! I forgot about family loyalty!"

He sat on the bed and pulled Scorpius onto his lap. Scorpius was trembling and refusing to look at him. Draco leaned down and kissed his temple.

"I was the immature one, okay? Your friend's dad won fair and square. I was just disappointed in myself, not you. You made the right decision. I wouldn't have wanted to win just because you bullied your friend into choosing me, you know. I have too much pride for that."

"So…you don't hate me?"

"No, you silly child. Now wipe those tears and go out and play with your friend. A good host does not hide away from his guests."

"But _you_ hid!"

Draco sighed, wishing for a moment that his son wasn't so clever. "Yes, and that was stupid of me. I can admit it. But mocking me isn't going to make your Albus any happier, is it?"

"No…I guess not. Alright, Papa. I'll be out in a few."

Draco let go of him and strode out the door, faltering a little when he caught Potter's softened expression.

"Piss off, Potter. We will talk about your winnings later."

Potter smirked, the softness gone. "Oh, yes. I'm expecting a _very_ nice reward."

* * *

The rest of the holidays went by without much incident. Although Potter said he expected a prize, he seemed content to wait before collecting it. Albus and Scorpius were curious about the prize, of course, but Potter had distracted them by taking them all out to the zoo, and since little boys have short memories, they quickly forgot all about it.

Draco could not forget, though. He found himself eyeing Potter apprehensively every so often, wondering when the moment would come that Potter would claim his prize. Surely he'd make Draco do something utterly humiliating and debasing, since they did not exactly have a warm and fuzzy history.

But no, Potter did not press the issue. Instead, he insisted upon taking them out shopping for Christmas gifts, buying lunch for them, and just wandering around town with them. The sight of the four of them out in public set people gossiping, of course, but since the reality was even more confusing than the gossip, Draco couldn't bring himself to care.

And besides, he had a son to spoil and love, so there was simply no time to worry about public opinion too much.

* * *

Before they knew it, it was time to say goodbye to their children. Draco stood at the train station, waving sombrely at his tearful son and smiling when he noticed Albus Potter wrapping his arm around him and trying to comfort him. Maybe it was good that his son had chosen the Potter spawn, after all.

Once the train was out of sight, he turned away and nodded in response to Ginevra Potter's nod. She was holding a little girl's hand, and Draco guessed her to be Lily Potter. She had reddish hair and more freckles than her older brother, but she somehow managed to look much more adorable than Ginevra had looked as a child. Perhaps she had enough Potter in her face to counteract the disgusting Weasel genetics.

Just as he was about to walk past them completely, however, the Weaselette called out to him.

"Malfoy!"

He turned around, his eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

"I just want to say thank you for looking after Albus over the winter holidays. He seemed very happy to spend time with you and your son."

"Oh. Well, it was my pleasure. Your son is a surprisingly well-behaved young man. I don't know where he gets it from."

The Weaselette smirked. "Sometimes I ask myself that, too. Anyway, Harry told me to tell you to expect a visit from him soon, although _why_, I don't know or care to know."

"Ah. Okay. Thank you for letting me know."

Draco turned to walk away, not wanting to show her his flaming face, but her voice stopped him in his tracks again.

"Hey, Malfoy. I may not be Harry's wife anymore, but I'm still his friend, despite all our differences. So if you hurt him in any way, expect a visit from _me_, okay?"

He nodded without facing her, since there was no other response he could make. Honestly, _him_, hurting _Potter_? The man was the vanquisher of the Dark Lord! He was practically indestructible.

But he understood the Weaselette's sentiment. He'd feel the same way about his ex-wife, too.

* * *

Draco opened the door to find Potter there, his face alight with excitement.

"So today's the day, huh, Potter?"

"Yes! Today is the day I claim my prize. Unless you're scared, of course." Potter fluttered his eyelashes in a mockery of innocence, and somehow the sight made Draco catch his breath. Damn, but he was attracted to weird things.

Draco yanked him indoors and slammed the door shut. "I'm never scared of you, you bastard. So do your worst."

"Mm. Let's…go somewhere more comfortable, shall we? I'd rather not do this in front of your windows, where anyone on the street can see us."

"Fine. My bedroom's this way."

As he led the way, he heard Potter chuckle as he followed him closely. "Very presumptuous, aren't we?"

"It's not. Everyone knows what 'comfortable' is a euphemism for. Besides, what's really presumptuous is you for presuming to know what 'presumptuous' means."

Draco jumped as Potter patted his arse. "I can't wait to shut you up, Malfoy. Or at least get you to say more pleasant things."

"I highly doubt you'll accomplish that."

"We shall see."

At this point, they had reached the bedroom, and Draco's heart had reached his throat. He really didn't know what Potter wanted to do, and it scared him more than he'd ever admit.

"Malfoy," whispered Potter into his ear. "I'm ready to receive my prize now."

Draco swallowed convulsively. "Fine. What would you like?"

"Take your trousers and pants off. You can keep the rest. Then lie on your back on the bed."

So Potter really _was_ going to go the sexual route, then. Draco had not been completely sure, half-expecting something else, but now the question was answered. His hands trembled as he unbuckled his belt, well-aware of Potter's eyes staring intently at him. God, why did Potter have to _stare_? Wasn't this embarrassing enough?

Once the belt was unbuckled, Draco unbuttoned his trousers, cursing his fingers for every fumble, and slid the trousers and the pants off of him in one motion to get it over with, because the staring was really getting on his nerves. He was glad that he never wore shoes indoors, because that would only prolong this torment.

Then he turned and crawled onto the bed before slowly turning himself over to face the ceiling. He felt very exposed, even though his shirt was still on. In fact, having his shirt on was even worse, because the contrast between the warmth on his chest and the coolness below his chest only made him all the more aware of his vulnerability.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Potter's triumphant smirk.

"Hmm." Suddenly he felt a weight settle on the bed, between his thighs. He waited for Potter to say something more, maybe a corny line like, "My, my, _someone_ looks happy to see me today," since Draco was undeniably hard, having furtively fantasised about this upcoming encounter for a long time.

Instead, he heard Potter gasp out a ragged breath before placing both his hands on Draco's thighs, spreading his legs further.

Was this how their first and possibly only time going to be? Given away carelessly as a prize from some meaningless competition?

But Potter did not shove a finger inside and conquer him like he expected. Instead, he felt Potter's tongue on his cock.

"Oh! What are you—"

Potter pulled away a bit, and Draco whimpered. "Claiming my prize, of course. I've wanted to taste you forever."

Then all words were lost as Potter took him in his mouth.

Draco bucked and moaned, unable to believe that _this_ was what Potter wanted. Wasn't it very submissive to suck another man's prick?

With every lick and suck, however, Draco found himself trembling and writhing under Potter's mouth. God, it felt so good. He never knew there could be so much warmth and wetness and—_oh_, pressure, but just the right amount.

He was at Potter's mercy now, and he finally realised it. _This_ was what Potter wanted, wasn't it? To see Draco under him, begging for more. To see him desperate to have, not the Chosen One, not the Saviour, not stupid Scarhead, but _Harry_, and—

God, Draco should have kept his eyes closed, but he couldn't; he had to know what Potter looked like down there—

And there he was, his dark bangs brushing over Draco's stomach, his eyes closed and his face flushed from effort and pleasure whenever he moved his head up high enough for Draco to see it, his unseen tongue massaging his aching cock—

Draco clutched the sheets as he came into that eager mouth, letting out an undignified cry that he would later on deny ever making.

As he collapsed onto the bed, covered in sweat, he suddenly felt the urge to cover himself up with some sheets, so he did, twisting his body upwards and sliding himself under the comfortable fabric. He would not look at Potter. He would not. Potter had gotten his prize, and now he could get out.

But Potter did not get out. Instead, Draco could hear him undressing and throwing his clothes unceremoniously onto the floor before prying the edges of the sheet out of Draco's vice grip and sliding under, wrapping his arms and legs around him.

"Draco," said Potter in an awed, almost reverent voice.

"Potty," he muttered, hating the way his face was burning.

He felt Potter's face draw closer, and his eyes snapped open as he struggled to get out of Potter's grip. "No! Unhand me! I refuse to taste myself on our first kiss!"

Potter grinned. "First? So that means there will be more? Then that means it's okay if you don't like this particular kiss. I'll make it up to you later."

Draco let out a terrified shriek, which was immediately muffled by Potter's lips and tongue.

Damn it. God _damn_ it. It tasted terrible. Really awful. So awful that Draco definitely did _not_ moan and kiss him back. No. Not at all.

"Oh that's it, Draco," breathed Potter against his lips. "Moan for me, just like that."

Then the bastard licked his ear, and Draco had never known he could like that so much. He squirmed and moaned again, clutching at Potter's back before finally jabbing his chin down on Potter's shoulder.

Potter didn't even notice, continuing his assault. Draco let out a triumphant, albeit somewhat breathless, laugh.

"A-_ha!_ My chin can't be that bad if that didn't hurt you!"

Potter pulled away, amusement written all over his face. "Alright, you can have that one. But just so you know, I won the wager."

Draco furrowed his brow. "What wager?"

"You know. The one we made in your study. About me having you one day if I wanted to."

Draco spluttered. "W-What? I never agreed to it, though!"

Potter smirked. "So? I still won it. And I'm going to claim my second prize."

"And what's that?"

Potter ground his erection against Draco's hip. "I want you as my boyfriend. And as my boyfriend, you're going to take care of this."

"Boyfriend? As in, exclusive? As in, we're doing this again?"

"Yes. Now make me come, sweetheart."

Draco bit Potter's lip, which only made the tosser tilt his head back and laugh. "Fine. But you're going to regret this boyfriend thing once you realise what else it entails."

Then he grabbed Potter's cock and stroked it, and Potter's self-satisfied smile said that he was not worried about the consequences at all.

* * *

_Dear Scorpius,_

_How are you? I hope you have gotten back into the habit of studying again, since I know as well as anyone else how hard it is to focus after having a wonderful holiday break._

_As you have already seen from the papers, yes, I am now in a relationship with Mr Potter. No matter what anyone says, though, I want you to know that although he and I love each other very much, you come first to me, and Albus and his siblings come first to him, okay? You might deny it, but I _know_ you're worried right now, more worried than you were willing to admit in your last letter, and I just want to reassure you that you mean the world to me, so do not let any of those gossip-mongering idiots get to you._

_No, I do not know if he and I are going to get married. It's too soon to tell. Even if we do, though, it's not necessarily a bad thing to have step-siblings. You and Albus already love each other to pieces, and I'm sure you could get along with James and Lily after a while. But do not fret about that right now. Concentrate on school. We will cross that bridge when we get there._

_Say hi to Albus for me and tell him that Mr Potter wants a letter from him._

_Keep your nose clean, and do not miss me too much. We'll see each other soon._

_Until next time,_

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

_Dear Papa,_

_I know. But you're wrong. I'm happy for you. I am just surprised. You are a meanie for not telling me first. I won't forgive you unless you send sweets. Lots of them._

_Is Mr Potter going to be my new mama? If not, what do I call him?_

_I'm doing all my work in a timely fashion, Papa. Don't worry._

_Albus says hi back. He's writing a letter now._

_Love,_

_Scorpius Malfoy_

* * *

_Dear Scorpius,_

_You manipulative brat. Fine. Here's a whole bunch of sweets. Hope they make you sick. You'd deserve it._

No_, he will not be your new mama. No one can ever replace your real mama. For now, just call him Mr Potter or maybe even Harry if you wish. Then again, I guess I don't mind if you _slip_ and call him mama by _accident_. It would amuse me to no end._

_Anyway, keep up the good work. I'm proud of you._

_Love,_

_Draco Malfoy_

_PS please do not _actually_ get sick from all the sweets. Ration them like a civilised human being, will you? Or at least share them with someone. The moment I hear you got a stomach ache from the candy, I will stop sending them to you altogether, and I mean it._


End file.
